The Cleric Selection Begins

Within Vero City’s central district, in the Bishop’s Palace of the Moonscar Church’s Cathedral, lay the Bishop’s Scriptorium.

A water clock ticked rhythmically in the corner of the room.

Doron sat before his desk, idly turning the pages of a Moonscar Faction hagiography, though his attention was clearly elsewhere.

“Paresha, how are your preparations coming along?”

Across from him, on a plush sofa, Paresha nervously massaged her elbows, her demeanor betraying a distinct lack of confidence.

“They’re… they’re alright…”

In merely an hour, the cleric selection ceremony would commence.

“The current circumstances of this selection are quite favorable to you. Your two friends recovered the holy relics, which serves as an external bonus, and you’re sure to benefit from it. That girl, Haia, even promised to stand by you in the comrade confrontation, and she’s quite powerful, isn’t she? More importantly, I, your father, have personally secured two votes for you. This is an immense advantage.”

Doron’s expression tightened, the wrinkles on his face deepening with concern.

“Everyone around you has given their all for your sake. I hope you won’t disappoint them.”

“Father, I promise—”

Paresha intended to vow that she would secure the cleric position, yet the words caught in her throat, unspoken.

“I’ll do my absolute best…”

“Hmm.”

‘If she were to fail, her father would undoubtedly be terribly disappointed…’

At this thought, Paresha’s breathing quickened, and she gripped the armrest of the sofa beside her.

In truth, her father had never treated her poorly. She was his illegitimate daughter, and to most who remained unaware, merely a country girl he had adopted on a whim. Yet, he had gone to great lengths to keep her by his side, investing considerable resources into her upbringing.

In this murky, chaotic Vero City, she considered herself incredibly fortunate to have such a devoted father.

She desperately did not want to disappoint him.

“How is Westir doing?”

Doron set his book aside, his expression softening as he turned to more casual conversation.

Paresha hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“It’s just… lately, I don’t know what’s gotten into my brother. He seems a bit listless, and if I try to talk to him even for a few moments, he gets annoyed, as if he’s about to fly into a rage. He was never like this before… And his blankets and sheets develop a strange smell overnight… Of course, none of these are major issues; he’ll get better!”

“Considering he’s been inactive and confined to bed, it’s natural for his spirits to be low. Has he made any requests? Perhaps we should indulge him a little, make him more comfortable.”

“There was one time, I think, when I was feeding him lunch, and he suddenly said he especially wanted to see Sa… Miss Haia…”

“Then we shall arrange for them to meet.”

“Father, so you mean to say…”

“Mean to say what?”

“Father, could you perhaps give my brother another chance? He truly could become an excellent bishop…”

“Here we go again…”

Doron grumbled, a hint of impatience coloring his tone, as he reached up to stroke his grizzled beard.

“Let’s put Westir aside for now. What about Lucius? What do you think of him?”

“Lucius… he’s a good person.”

Paresha was hesitant to speak ill of Lucius in front of her father.

“Spare me the platitudes. Don’t try to fob me off. Is it that you simply don’t like him?”

“No… I…”

Paresha bit her lower lip, suspecting her father was deliberately trying to coax her into criticizing Lucius. If she did, he would undoubtedly have reason to chide her for ‘allowing personal preferences to interfere with religious matters,’ claiming she had overlooked Lucius as the more suitable candidate for bishop.

She did not yield to her father’s unspoken wish, and immediately, his brow furrowed.

Seeing this, Paresha was about to offer some words of reassurance, but her father’s next statement left her utterly stunned.

“Could it be that he’s been bullying you? Tell me, and I’ll go settle the score with him!”

Her father, far from defending Lucius, instead believed that Lucius had been the one to mistreat her…

Doron’s gaze was filled with concern, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes intertwining, and his sparse white hair trembled slightly with emotion.

Witnessing her father’s reaction, a sudden pang of emotion tightened Paresha’s throat.

“No, Father, I simply don’t like Lucius. I don’t want to be with him…”

“Ah.”

Doron rose to his feet, opened the long chest beside his desk, and retrieved his vestments and stole. It was as if he shed a layer of sternness; the lingering glance he cast at Paresha was remarkably gentle, his aged face even bearing traces of doting affection.

“You decide for yourself, Paresha. To be honest, if I could, I would want to continue looking after both of you like this forever. Unfortunately, I cannot; I am unable…”

Her father finished dressing, his bishop’s white robe adorned with intricate golden embroidery—sacred, lavish, and voluminous, enveloping his slender, stooped frame.

“My daughter, as you can see, I am already very old…”

With one final glance back at her, her father slowly opened the door and departed the room.

****

The Moonscar Faction’s Cathedral, crafted entirely from pristine white moonstone, presented a magnificent and imposing facade. Beneath its towering spires, a large silver bell hung, now emitting a long, resonating hum.

“Paresha! Over here!”

Outside the Cathedral, Saranya emerged from beneath an elegant goddess statue. Pulling Kaelan through the throng of onlookers, she waved her arm towards Paresha.

Paresha hurried over, then instructed the divine guards at the entrance to admit the two into the Cathedral hall.

The church staff had specially arranged the hall, removing numerous furnishings and decorations, leaving the central area conspicuously empty.

At the heart of the hall lay a circular, slightly raised platform, encircled by low barriers. Directly above it, a massive crescent emblem fashioned from platinum descended, its smooth, slippery texture reflecting the sunlight streaming directly from the skylight. It exuded a chilling, yet undeniably sacred, aura.

This was designated as the Bishop’s speaking area, and also the stage where the contestants would engage in the first phase of divine magic contests.

Many citizens and religious figures qualified to observe had already arrived, filling the hall to capacity. It was remarkably quiet, save for the occasional faint whispers that drifted and echoed between the vast stone walls.

“Please excuse me, Sister Saranya, Esteemed Kaelan, I must go prepare now…”

Paresha lowered her head, softly bidding farewell to Saranya and Kaelan beside them.

Saranya acknowledged her, then turned to glance at Kaelan.

Beneath her veil, Kaelan remained impassive. Only when Paresha began to move did she speak, her tone understated:

“Good luck.”

To Saranya’s recollection, this was the first time Kaelan had ever offered encouragement to anyone else.

And that wasn’t all. Kaelan then lifted the hem of her elegant beige gown, brushing it against Saranya’s thigh with the fabric.

“Why are you just standing there blankly? Go encourage my disciple!”

Saranya wouldn’t dare disobey.

“Paresha, you can do it! If you perform well today, I’ll treat you to drinks afterward!”

Paresha’s eyes lit up, her earlier melancholic mood vanishing entirely. She strode purposefully towards the first row of seats in the arena, specifically reserved for the cleric candidates.

A squad of silver-armored divine guards jogged in from a side door, pulling open the heavy stone doors that connected the Bishop’s Palace to the Cathedral’s front hall.

Doron’s figure appeared beyond the doors. The Bishop, clad in ceremonial attire, wearing a pointed silver crown, and holding a crescent-moon scepter, slowly ascended the central dais.

“As you all can see, this is Paresha Greystone, my adopted daughter, and one of the candidates for cleric.”

Paresha rose to her feet and bowed respectfully to the surrounding crowd.

At the same moment, a wave of chattering murmurs suddenly rippled through the crowd, starting from the entrance.

The other two candidates had entered.

“We welcome Dalia Aurelius and her divine guards, our brothers and sisters of the Moonscar Faction.”

Doron’s voice paused. Like everyone else, he turned his gaze towards the last candidate entering through the doors, remaining silent for a prolonged moment.

The grand doors slowly closed, the bright sunlight compressing into a narrow sliver before finally vanishing completely into the bustling front hall.

Paresha, too, shifted her gaze towards the entrance, and after discerning the newcomer, her body trembled almost imperceptibly.

“The candidate endorsed by the City Alliance, Miss Aivy of the Weinshield family, we thank you for your presence…”

Accompanied by Lucius, Aivy stepped into the front hall with her long legs, a single braid swaying proudly behind her.

“How could it be her… ”

In the audience, Saranya frowned, her palm clenching slightly.

Aivy chose to sit beside Paresha.

“Welcome, welcome, Miss Aivy…”

Paresha stared, her speech becoming somewhat clumsy.

“Oh, thank you, Paresha.”

Aivy curved her lips, her emerald-like eyes twinkling. That particular gaze, combined with the faint freckles dusting her cheeks, made her appear both mischievous and cunning.